During the third year of his marriage to Georgiana, following the birth of their second daughter, Leanne Georgina Fleming, Ellis worked diligently to write the first book on the production of watches and clocks; and when it was finally published, everyone thought it was about time. The opening sentence was, ’Contrary to popular belief, people who work in watch factories do not stand around all day making faces’.
While doing research for his publication, Ellis Fleming came across the following anecdote. The Tates Watch Company of Massachusetts, America, wanted to manufacture other products; and since they already made the cases for pocket watches, they decided to market compasses for the settlers traveling westward. Although their timepieces were of the finest quality, the company’s compasses were so faulty pioneers often ended up in Canada or Mexico rather than California. This, of course, was the origin of the expression, ‘He who has a Tates is lost.’
Darcy Ellis Fleming was born in the fourth year of their marriage. Darcy was a happy babe and continued to be good-natured, albeit very active, as he grew into boyhood. In the mornings Georgiana and Ellis watched their son rise; in the afternoons they watched their son shine; and after their son was set for the night, they could finally rest.
Fitzwilliam Darcy entered Northumbrella’s west-facing sitting room as the mid-afternoon sun slanted in through tall windows and cast its meagre light on his lovely wife. To him it seemed Elizabeth radiated a warmer glow than that late-February sun. He stood behind her chair, placed his hands gently on her shoulders, and kissed the top of her head. “What manner of project are you working on so industriously there, Mrs. Darcy?”
She bent her head back to look up at his handsome face as he leaned over her. “It is a beaded macramé item for the child of someone I love very dearly. Would you care to lend a hand?” Elizabeth passed him a ball of cream-coloured yarn and demonstrated the particular knots she was using.
Darcy took a seat across from her and smirked as he tossed the ball from one hand to the other. “You are exceptionally skilled at macramé, Lizzy. I very much enjoy engaging in the
“I am not entirely naïve, you know, sir.” Elizabeth said primly. “Therefore, I do not, for a moment, believe you are speaking of creating knotty macramé projects at all but are just being plain naughty. As such, any labour of love involved will be mine alone; and our first creation should, in fact, be produced, or should I say reproduced, in about six and a half months.”
Darcy instantly dropped his smirk along with the ball of yarn. He gaped in wonder at the incredible woman who had been his wife for a mere two and a half months. Elizabeth giggled at the shocked expression on her beloved husband’s face and tossed another ball of yarn at him to bring the poor fellow out of his stupor. It bounced off his forehead, and she said, “Well, that was quite a
Darcy’s astonishment was beyond expression. He stared, coloured, doubted, and was silent. Finally he gulped and stuttered, “Are you … are you … spinning another yarn, Lizzy? Your mother once told me she does not believe everything your father says, and she also informed me you take after him. Truthfully, are you … are you … ?”
“Spinning another yarn in the Bennet
“Elizabeth!”
“Darling, I shall not tease you any longer over such an important issue since you are
“Elizabeth!!!”
It was already established Mr. and Mrs. George Wickham did not produce offspring; and their relationship was certainly unequal to the grand passions of the Darcys, the Fitzwilliams, the Flemings, or even Mr. and Mrs. Charles Bingley. Caroline and her wickedly handsome husband got along tolerably well; and Wickham was kept under the watchful eye of his godfather and namesake, George Darcy.
Upon the demise of the elderly Mr. and Mrs. Bartlett Piers, who both succumbed to a virulent influenza, their only male relative, Charles Bingley, inherited their Staffordshire estate. So Charles and Anne sold their London townhouse and settled within a three-quarter-hour ride to Pemberley. George Wickham then also had to contend with and answer to his wife’s brother, which was a rather awkward situation since the two young men had been friends for some years. The Bingley brother and sister, whose family had made their fortune in footwear, often made George feel like a heel; and it is a known fact that time wounds all heels. For her part, Caroline realized she was fortunate not to have fallen on hard tines after having fallen for a rake. She was content to say she lived at Pemberley, and Caroline always accompanied her husband when he had business at the grand house. Mrs. Wickham enjoyed walking the grounds, and she particularly liked to spend time in the orangery.
Like her Darcy nephew, Lady Catherine de Bourgh eventually learned to lighten up; and after ten years in mourning clothes, she finally shed her black widow attire and began to wear shades of charcoal, silver, lilac, and mauve, which looked quite fetching with her grey … er, platinum hair. Lady Catherine’s time was either spent in the dower house at Rosings near Richard and Jane Fitzwilliam or with her dear Annie and Mr. Bing in Staffordshire, and the gutter-mouthed gentlewoman spent as little time as possible in society and in sobriety. For a while her greatest joy in life (beside fruitcake, plumes, and laudanum-laced sherry) was when she became a great-aunt, time and time again, to the Fitzwilliam brood, who were always on their pest behaviour in great Aunt Catherine’s presence.
The brave Colonel (retired) Fitzwilliam was a wreck the day his first offspring was born. The midwife had been attending another birth ten miles away in a different part of Kent, and Richard was in the midst of a mid-wife crisis when the woman finally arrived fifteen minutes before his daughter entered the world. Jane Fitzwilliam presented her husband with a healthy child every year and a half until their brood reached a total of seven. A baby’s sex is a hidden agender until it makes its first appearance; however, the couple seemed to have a set pattern of girl-boy-girl-boy, with Janetta Lily Fitzwilliam followed by Henry Bennet Fitzwilliam, Regan Alexandra Fitzwilliam, Geoffrey Richard Fitzwilliam, Rebecca Frances Fitzwilliam, Cosmo James Fitzwilliam, and Muriel Jane Fitzwilliam.
It was very agreeable to the Bennet family to have Jane settled within so easy a distance of Longbourn. For what was fifty miles of good road? It was little more than half a day’s journey and a very easy distance when there was fortune to make the expense of travelling unimportant. When they visited Rosings, Lady Catherine was always especially pleased to see Robert Bennet, her little bug.
During one of their visits Mr. Bennet was surprised when his son asked, “Papa, is Lady Caffrin an author?”
“No, my boy, not to my knowledge. Why do you ask?”
“She complains about having authoritis in her hand. Is that not writer’s cramp?”
For several years, Robert Bennet continued to create pun-filled stories; and his writing style was like the little boy himself, short and sharp.
Great-nieces and great-nephews, as great as they may be, paled in comparison to when Lady Catherine’s own daughter delivered Catriona Anne Bingley, followed the next year by Lewis Charles Bingley, and then Rosanna Catherine Bingley two years after that. Lady Catherine was positively over the moon and absolutely loved being a granny, even if it meant she had to be very careful not to cuss. To be on the safe side, she adopted and adapted a motto, ’A closed mouth gathers no feet’. Surprisingly, it was not a hard canon by which to live, because at her age, Lady Catherine found actions creak louder than words.
As soon as Richard Fitzwilliam resigned his commission, an opening became available for the rank of Colonel. The former Lieutenant-Colonel John Dun gladly filled the position; and his wife, Charlotte (nee Lucas), was thrilled by the promotion. Their daughter, Mariah Beatrice, was born four months before her parents celebrated their first wedding anniversary. (Charlotte had wasted no time in securing her man.) Mariah’s brother, Arthur Wellesley Dun, named for the victorious commanding General in the Peninsular War, arrived almost three years later.
Fitzwilliam Darcy finally beheld true perfection on September 25th, 1812, upon the birth of his first child, an heir, Bennet George Darcy. The proud papa presented his wife with a bouquet of Damask roses and baby’s breath,
